Filed to story: Accidentally Slept With The Young Mafia Boss (Vincent & Helen) Book PDF Free
Oliver tilted his head, studying her like he could read her secrets.
That sharp little gaze made her nervous, so she quickly ruffled his hair.
“Do you want a cookie or go to your room for a rest?” Helen asked, hoping food would work its magic. “Remember what the doctor said? Your wound’s still healing, and you need more rest… But mommy will allow you to eat a cookie.” She smiles.
Miraculously, it worked. His pout melted instantly.
“Cookie…” he repeated, his voice soft and sweet, like the word itself was a treasure. His eyes lit up as he looked at her, already imagining the sugary prize.
Helen laughed under her breath, relief loosening her shoulders.
‘Thanks God… Crisis averted. For now…’
But deep down, Helen knew she couldn’t keep dodging the truth forever.
She needs to tell Oliver before Vincent returns because that’s what she promised him: to deliver the shocking news to her beloved son.
…
After Oliver finished four cookies and a glass of warm milk, his eyelids began to droop.
Helen carried him to his room and gently placed him on his soft bed.
She sat by his side, opening the same storybook she always read when he needed comfort.
But she didn’t even get through half the page before his soft snores filled the room.
She smiled, brushing his hair back.
‘If only life were as easy as a bedtime story… one prince, one princess, happily ever after. Instead, I’m stuck with Vincent Moretti, who’s more like a dragon than a prince.’
She sighs silently, but an amused smile emerges on her lips as she thinks about her inner thought, Vincent as a charming dragon.
Then,
Eveyn closed the door quietly, exhaling in relief as she made her way to her own bedroom.
For the first time in two days, she will be able to rest.
Her own bed looked like heaven itself. Two sleepless nights at the hospital had left her exhausted, and the soft mattress was practically begging her to dive into it and never leave.
But, of course, the universe had other plans.
Her phone exploded with sound.
Helen hurriedly moved toward her bag like a woman heading to her execution.
The moment her eyes landed on the caller ID, her heart jumped into her throat. Vincent Moretti.
‘Oh, perfect. Just what I needed… Sir Trouble himself,’ She pressed the phone to her chest, glaring at the ceiling. ‘Can’t he give me five minutes of peace? Just five? Or is calling me officially his hobby now?’
Taking a deep breath, she forced her tone into something soft and polite, as if she were speaking to royalty instead of the man who kept barging into her life.
“Hello, Vincent…”
Her voice sounded sweet, far sweeter than she felt. If he were in the room, he’d probably smirk and accuse her of deeply missing his presence.
She half-expected his first words to be some arrogant remark. Something like “Hi Helen, thinking about me?” or “I hope you’re not enjoying the bed too much without me, Helen.”
Instead, his deep voice came through the speaker, calm and serious.
“Helen, what is Oliver’s shoe size and his clothes?”
Helen almost laughed, hearing his question. This man, Vincent Moretti, was truly unpredictable. Out of all the things she had imagined earlier, he asked this one? Oliver’s shoe size?
Her hand clenched around her cell phone. “Why do you suddenly ask about it?” She tried to sound casual, but even she could hear the tension in her tone.
A soft chuckle drifted through the line, followed by that annoyingly confident voice of his. “Of course, I want to buy him shoes and clothes. Why do you even need to ask my reason?”
Helen pinched her temple, trying to hold herself together.
She was too tired to spar with him. Two days of worry and sleepless nights had drained her patience, and she didn’t have the energy to match his word games.
So, she tells him Oliver’s size, hoping that would be the end of their phone call.
But, of course, Vincent Moretti never let things end so easily.
“Have you told Oliver about his father? About me?”
The question froze her, and suddenly her sleepiness disappeared, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming panic.
‘My lord, why now? Couldn’t he wait until he came back in person? No, of course not. He has to ask through the phone while I look like a sleep-deprived raccoon.’
She paused to take a deep breath silently. Before her mind continued to vent her frustration, ‘Telling Oliver he’s his dad isn’t like asking if he wants chicken or fish for dinner. It’s complicated. It’s… terrifying.’
Her thoughts spun so fast she didn’t even realize she’d gone silent. On the other end of the line, Vincent grew impatient.
“Helen? Are you there? Hello?”
She cleared her throat hastily, trying to keep her voice from cracking. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“Ah, I thought you ran away.” He chuckled, the deep sound vibrating through the phone and making her cheeks warm. “You heard my question, right?”
Her heart thumped like a drum in her chest. She wanted to snap at him, maybe even hang up. Still, the truth was, she could never reasonably handle Vincent the way she handled other men’s insistence.
With anyone else, she would throw her sarcasm even when it was a shield. But with him? He cut straight through it, every time.
“I heard,” she admitted softly.
“And?” he pressed, his voice dipping lower, smoother, as if coaxing the truth from her lips. “What did you tell him?”
Her free hand twisted her hair as if doing that would make Vincent suddenly end the call. But of course, he doesn’t.
“Nothing. Not yet.”
There was silence on the other end. For a moment, she thought the line had dropped, until his sigh came, low, but she heard it clearly.
“Why not?”
Helen walked over to the sofa in the corner and slumped down onto it before answering him.
“Because it’s not that simple, Vincent. He’s just a child. Do you think I can just sit him down and say, ‘Surprise, honey, the uncle who keeps bossing Mommy around is actually your father.’ Do you want to traumatize him?”
That earned her a low, warm, and amused laugh.
“What? Keep bossing you around? Seriously, is that what you think about me?”
She stifled a laugh upon hearing his protest tone. “Geez, Vincent Moretti, that’s just a hypothetical situation, an example, alright.”
“Alright. But what about… scary uncle? I thought he liked me.”
“Yeah, he is fond of you,” Helen admitted hurriedly. “Too much, in fact. That’s exactly why this is hard. Because he may already like you as his uncle… And not ready, you, become his father.”
“You overthink. He is smart like me. You should tell him the truth,” Vincent said firmly. “The boy deserves to know who I am.”
His tone left no room for argument. And that, more than anything, made Helen want to argue.
“Easy for you to say! You’re not the one who has to pick the right words and deal with all the questions afterward. You don’t know what it’s like…” She wanted to tell him that, but she just swallowed all the words down to her stomach.
Another silence.
Then his voice came, softer now, almost… careful. “Helen… I know it’s hard for you to talk to him. However, you also need to understand that I want to be part of his life. Not just a shadow.”
Her breath feels heavy. For a moment, all her sarcastic comebacks dried up. He sounded serious, too serious. And sincerity from Vincent Moretti was far more dangerous than his arrogance.
She pressed a hand over her heart, which was now beating too fast.
“I understand, Vincent. I will talk with him after he wakes up.”
He hummed, as if already pleased with her answer. “Thank you… But if you still find it hard to tell him on your own, wait for me. We will speak to him together.”
Before Helen can fathom what he says, he adds smoothly, “Rest well, Helen. You sound exhausted. Sweet dreams.”
The line ended.
Helen stared at her phone, speechless.
“Sweet dreams, he says. As if he didn’t just drop a grenade into my lap and walk away with that damn smug smile of his.”
With a deep sigh, Helen walked to her bed and flopped onto it, burying her face in the pillow.
“Sweet dreams? More like sweet nightmares…”
The topic Helen always avoids when talking to Oliver is about his father.
